


panacea; as if the heavens bled

by sugarsanayeonie



Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blood and Injury, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Swearing, Tags May Change, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:35:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28692588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarsanayeonie/pseuds/sugarsanayeonie
Summary: This is the story of nine strangers and how they’re all tied together by a harrowing fate of love, death and war.orNayeon just wants the best life for her sister; Jeongyeon craves glory; Jihyo is a nomad who loves anarchy.
Relationships: Chou Tzuyu/Son Chaeyoung, Hirai Momo/Im Nayeon, Kim Dahyun/Myoui Mina, Kim Dahyun/Park Jisoo | Jihyo, Kim Dahyun/Son Chaeyoung, Minatozaki Sana/Yoo Jeongyeon, Myoui Mina/Park Jisoo | Jihyo
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	1. Quiet Resource

Six, Nayeon counts, as her eyes train on some civilians taking glances at her cart, but do not approach her. 

The sun is due west, in the direction of where the snow-topped woods in the distance lie with no disturbance.

Two. There are two children who stop to ask her what they can buy, sacks of silver or gold in both of their little palms. Nayeon shoos them away with a practiced smile.

Five. As the sun sets, emitting a glowing blanket of gold over her, a group of five (drunken) men stumble out of a bar and begin making their way to the dealer. The first asks her what she’s doing so far away from the main town event -- they are either aware that Nayeon is not a local, or they are a blink away from going out like a light. As the second’s arm’s try to get a hold of hers, Nayeon’s grin falters, but only for a second. The forced politeness of her tone while asking them to leave fall on deaf ears, and they chuckle. 

She directs a curt warning; a somewhat crude reminder that she is a weapons master -- a young, but scarily experienced one. Men refuse to listen sometimes; their laughs ring in mock. There are times when Nayeon is simply terrible at controlling her anger.

Her cart creaks as she wheels it away back toward the inn, her foot kicking at the snow to make sure five bodies will be seen peeking out from the stuffing of white by only a little, once the town is bustling with civilians. At the stroke of midnight, the thought slips into Nayeon's mind that she hasn’t taken a bite of anything since the early dawn. 

She remembers her sister’s cooking. How it tastes so much like home, and the lengths Nayeon would go to be able to return. It comes in short flashes, the memories of burning wood where it usually shouldn’t be and the blaring horns from the distance -- maybe her mind only conjured these up during the experience, but it still feels quite real.

Nayeon makes a mental note to eat the leftovers from last night instead.

There’s nothing Sana hates more than arguments. 

A close second is misplaced trust, however there’s ample ground for judgement on that end. A third is loud, unnecessary noises. It’s good for their business, Jeongyeon reasons, her half-assed persuasion the only reason why she and Sana are in the midst of a Winter festival with deafening pyrotechnics as entertainment.

The prickles on Sana’s skin is her own body telling her there’s a storm coming, keeping mute at the sight of Jeongyeon bartering with an insistent customer who’s unrelenting in proving their hard-earned and homemade goods are nothing short of a street scam.

Jeongyeon skilfully drags out the situation, her hand gestures remaining humble and words staying truthful to her business. Sana can almost scoff at the guise of desperation, until she notices the woman put up three fingers behind her back.

A signal; a distraction. Three soldiers dressed in the warmest -- and finest; the emblem of their nation pinned to the pockets in a show of status to intimidate -- coats stand blatantly on the sidelines.

Had they carried around some sort of identification, they might have nothing to worry about.

The clock strikes twelve. Bursts of red, and no other dominating colors, go off. Sana flinches. People shout in delight, in wonder, and in awe. Civilians point, stare and gawk. Jeongyeon signals in between the diversion.

While the darkened skies are brightly painted in a celebration of a new leader, Jeongyeon and Sana are gone with the night.

Her eyes shimmer, Chaeyoung notices. On more occasions than just this one. They say that you only realise certain emotions in the strangest and most fleeting moments. Although, Chaeyoung isn’t very sure what this scenario is trying to tell her.

The two of them split a piece of bread from a straw basket of seven and a half. It’s a rule of thumb by now, yet the younger pays no mind. Dahyun is entirely grateful for sharing almost everything with Chaeyoung, and that includes every adventure in their quaint village. 

What if one were to leave the pod if the other isn’t ready? Is a question that often sticks in Dahyun's mind, as she watches the two of them grow at a pace not so separated from one another. Her hair is a much darker shade of ebony, much longer too. Chaeyoung’s height nearly matches her own after a while. 

They’re teenagers finding things out together; a quest of fulfillment -- one that they’ll hopefully reach together.

Chaeyoung’s tired head falls onto Dahyun’s lap -- a billion similar moments like this one sweep her thoughts, as her lips mouth her counting the stars in the sky silently. The latter takes another bite of bread into her mouth, watching the marchers down below holler and chant with bright crimson flags, some bystanders joining in, completely immersed with joy. 

It's contagious, and Dahyun’s lips quirk upward. Their eyes connect in between a fraction of a millisecond, and they both smile. 

Perhaps, both for different reasons.

In the shallow of the night, Dahyun makes an unspoken promise to her, afraid the universe would swallow it up and dangle it just out of reach. 

She’s the best person to keep secrets, after all.

> ===
> 
> _four years later.._
> 
> ===

There are drums, deafening declares of the people. She can’t bring herself to fully submerge herself into the reality before her, and so she wears a blank face. It’d be better if nobody would be able to read her at her most vulnerable.

At some point it all stops in perfect timing, and she can finally breathe. Almost immediately after, a bellowing voice rings from her side. She never liked the attention on the podium, but it is her responsibility now. 

Does she deserve this? 

Shouts from below display support.

The still heads in the distance just above her line of sight silently scream in disapproval. If they were here on this day, would’ve she been beheaded by now?

Her most trusted general signals her out of her daze, her breath murmuring words that only Jeongyeon can hope to be are encouraging ones.

The sounds flood back in, just at the right moment to filter in cheers and criers of joy. Jeongyeon feels as though she’s taking her last moments alive to plunge into the abyss that lies there, stagnant and patiently waiting. 

The moment Jeongyeon steps off her pedestal, flags of blue colors wave sporadically and marchers disperse in synchronization. Her heartbeat has overcome a tsunami of emotions; she finds it matching the next tempo that the drummers play.

The dawn of a new era; Jeongyeon wants nothing more than to herself into the void.

For the first time, bells do not signify victory.

The winter wind is vicious, and her cut robes are only reminders of a failure she has accomplished. The cold seeps into her skin, coloring it a paler shade.

For the first time, Nayeon knows what death feels like; or what sensation it comes close to. Her breath draws smoke, and foreign arms lift her up, dragging her limp body away in the midst of a blizzard.

Even with the slightest indication of warmth, Nayeon instinctively retaliates. She recoils, and the healers do not try to stop her; their leader is perhaps scarred in more ways than one.

Nayeon is undressed when she’s calm, but her face remains emotionless as she’s buried in blankets, sheets, anything. Another source of heat is a hand, caressing the side of her face. Except, Nayeon has no choice but to welcome it, so she naturally shuts her eyes like she does a billion times over.

A pair of lips press against her cheek, and that’s when Nayeon registers the feeling of wet droplets flowing down. 

For the first time, she relieves herself of the weight of the world; the weight of expectations and half-truths and lies.

Nayeon cries, she sobs, and Momo catches her in her arms.

Where the tip of an arrow had grazed her leg, Mina pecks. She even kisses the yellowish bruises that stick to her skin like art, but Mina prefers the real thing, the black ink on her back running from the top of her spine to the swell of her hips. There are unfading scars there too, but she doesn’t mind in the least.

The woman finishes bandaging up herself, gently tapping the top of Mina’s forehead for her to make room. Jihyo stretches her shoulder in a circle, once, twice, then throws all the bloodied bandages to the pile of similarly unusable ones.

“I’m sorry,” Mina wraps her arms around the warrior’s back, pressing another peck atop her recovering shoulder. “For everything.”

A hushed murmur, “There’s nothing to be sorry for, love.”

They stay like that for a while, basking in each other’s presence as if they have been lovers living in peace for centuries; as if there had not been war in daunting hours that have left them.

“Soon, we’ll find a way.” 

As fearsome of an impact that Jihyo had made in that battle, all that Jihyo has left are wounds and Mina. 

One is an indication of the sacrifices she has made throughout the years.

The other is the entirety of Jihyo’s sanity.

Blue flags.

A woman floats to the end of the creek, where the grass is fresh and the boisterous sounds of the waterfall a good distance away still disguises her well. There is nobody in control -- perhaps if there is a possibility that a river god has taken a liking to the maiden. 

Somebody hollers, catching the attention of the whole group as they observe; a woman by the creek in a state of unconsciousness. Alarmed, they are paranoid that it is a cruel trap set by The Exiled while they patrol the borders.

By the end of the day, the maiden stays above the water, for there is in fact a spirit that watches over her.

And by the end of the day, Dahyun wakes.


	2. Woodland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s irritating how everything’s just a blur, yet she thinks it could be the work of the gods; a temporary cleansing from the collateral damage.
> 
> “Whatever you wish,” Nayeon finally utters, bringing Momo’s chin up with her finger and planting a soft kiss square on her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been trying to pace my self better when I'm writing, and to my surprise, it's been working. With a lot of things on my plate in the next few weeks, I hope to keep updating and doing what I love; writing.
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Kids Again - Sam Smith  
> Palace - Sam Smith  
> drivers license - Olivia Rodrigo  
> let's fall in love for the night - Finneas

Nayeon’s naturally wary of the faint light that seeps from the windowsills at an ungodly hour, or any light for that matter. For that, Nayeon loves alleyways; the thick void in between two homesteads in the broad daylight, often serves as the perfect place to hide things in plain sight in the hours after the sun rests. The cart pushes hard against the wetted cobble, and Nayeon hastily tucks the thin tarp above it.

Two plates on the dining table. One with barely anything left, the other left with cold grains. Nayeon’s feet pad straight to the bedroom, greeted with the snoring sounds of her sister sound asleep.

Tzuyu mumbles as Nayeon slips into the bed with her, careful not to move the blanket too much as she drapes a frosty arm over the younger. Nayeon’s veins sour, too little flesh meeting her fingertips; Tzuyu’s clothes have gotten a little bigger.

 _Things will be better in time_ , Nayeon murmurs to nobody in particular.

> ===
> 
> _present day.._
> 
> ==

There are things one can never get used to, such as the effects of one’s emotions running wild when left in solitude. That’s precisely what leads Jeongyeon to the throne room, staring holes straight through the one sat in the dead centre; she particularly despises that one than the other two sitting on either side.

The cushions are no longer a daunting emerald with golden trims, it’s a royal blue with silver linings -- and it almost gives her a feeling similar to home.

And for a while, Jeongyeon enjoys time to herself. Yet, there is no surprise when she’s interrupted by a small assembly of her own soldiers, accompanying a familiar face -- her general knows well how to make an entrance. 

Jeongyeon nods her head for them to be left alone. 

“They take well to a rather drastic change of pace,” Sana addresses, “The people. Or.. your people, for that matter.”

Hazel eyes conflict with Jeongyeon’s own, silently searching for an answer within.

“Well I can’t imagine it to feel natural.” Jeongyeon simply lets out a chuckle, “I’m glad things ended up like they did.”

Sana only hums at that, and the empress senses the soldier’s burning question from a mile away. “You don’t seem to believe in those words. That’s never a good sign, _my liege_.”

It’s phrased out without any accusation, yet the woman couldn’t let it sit idle. “You’re reading too much into it, Sana.” Jeongyeon pauses before she adds, “And don’t call me that, please.”

“Why not? It’s official now. Better to make use of it than never.” While Sana gives out a grin, the latter shakes her head. It may have gotten a little stiff and rigid in such a formal environment, but the lighthearted jests being thrown around eases her restlessness. “Although I’d love to sit here all day and tease, that isn’t why I’m here. The council is in need of your presence.”

“That’s sooner than I expected.” 

“I thought the same.” _It must be quite urgent._

There’s a brief moment where Jeongyeon chooses whether to confide in Sana. To share her worries with her. Her _nerves._

Sana turns on her heel, having already navigated and mapped out the entire palace -- probably since the they've first stepped foot into it -- and Jeongyeon has no choice but to gloss her thoughts over.

Even with a history of time on their side, they just aren’t those sort of friends.

Dusk settles upon the land fairly quickly around the time when it’s a little too chilly to only drape a coat for warmth around one's back. Among many things, it paints the picture of a frozen wasteland even better. And among many others, Momo manifests an unspoken prayer to bleed upon those who hear it.

She’d be known as a fool if she were to be caught with her head bowed against her hands, communicating with a fictitious higher being, yet she does so anyway, hoping with the last of her breath that somebody out there would hear her desperation. 

Momo lays her forehead against Nayeon’s bedding, where the girl herself has yet to lift her eyelids.

The healers bring her food, but Momo declines, and her stare returns to grace Nayeon’s features; her lips are as pale as her own skin, chest rising and falling shallowly and scattered.

The woman knows well of the tolls that go hand in hand with war and disagreements. On a much larger scale, Momo has lost more than anybody. Deeply engraved in her mind are the helpless pleas of those who have given their blood to fight, and the empty stares that follow as their breath is cut short, either with a blade, an arrow, perhaps even with another’s lifeless body. And the flames, _oh_ , the flames.

Dancing hues of hatred and other emotions start resurfacing inside Momo, in a completely similar manner to the lack of tameness the destructive element possesses.

It is all forged into one painful scene -- and the final blow has only begun to strike.

Channeling anger has never been a strength of Momo’s, instead she’s met with a hand on her bowed head, running through her black locks in motions so soothing her grip loosens on the curled sheets. The hand conjoins with Momo’s, fingers interlocking like two pieces of a perfectly messed up puzzle. 

And Nayeon makes an effort to bring a smile to her lips. It’s small, but it’s there. And that’s enough.

“What’s on your mind?” she asks softly, with a slight husk in her morning voice, “I can tell when you’re thinking.”

“You say that so casually, I hate it,” Momo doesn't intend for it to sound bitter, but even her face refuses to sugarcoat her worries. Despite all they’ve been through, Nayeon talks to her like her world isn’t about to crash down into rubble before her eyes. “Can we just stay like this, please?” 

Momo says it so softly that, for a while, Nayeon isn’t sure how to respond, still clouded with a flurry of events and snippets of flashes that dangle ever so out of reach. 

It’s irritating how everything’s just a blur, yet she thinks it could be the work of the gods; a temporary cleansing from the collateral damage.

“Whatever you wish,” Nayeon finally utters, bringing Momo’s chin up with her finger and planting a soft kiss square on her lips.

Jihyo and Mina reach a compromise. As the trap, being set with no faults, had successfully trapped not one but three deer, Mina demands for one to be let go. And although Jihyo whines about not being able to find a better catch than this in perhaps the next few days, Mina insists on giving them a free pass due to the teeth-clattering season.

( _“Deer don’t hibernate, we’ll find something else.”_

 _“You’re okay with me killing other animals but not deer?”_ )

Hopping from place to place isn’t considered a chore in Jihyo’s book. She’s learned how to adapt to anything, to blend in; a nomad. But Jihyo’s insightful to the ever transforming environment, brisking the edges of other men's ground for as long as she can remember.

Jihyo was only a ghost, until she met Mina; a woman having crossed many more borders than the former did back then.

“We’ll try the other side of the mountain.” Mina suggests, nodding her head toward the path laid crooked ahead of them.

It’s a lengthy walk, as treacherous as it is foreign. The snow only thickens the more they tread, crunching underneath their boot-clad feet, and sheltering them from a silvery sun are the veins of the trees while they sketch dark patterns that intertwine with the white blanket on the ground. Mina gets to appreciate the sight; one of the only ones she assumes is left untouched by the war.

And like that, they both grow still, eyes furrowing when an otherworldly sound reaches their ears.

“Are those?” Jihyo questions, voice uncharacteristically small.

A more fluid and developed chirp rings in a tune.

“Birds.” Mina’s breath shivers, “In the South?”

Their ears do not deceive them, as even their sight bears the same will. The void of white meshes with mother nature, a refreshing and altered reality of melting puddles and locks of green emerging from the earth beneath them. Jihyo follows when Mina shrugs her own coat off, embraced in the clutches of a spring breeze that contrasts with the harsh winds they had once faced prior. 

A river runs with life, crinkling and tipping over fallen bark and lopsided stone. Mina’s mouth is nearly left agape. And Jihyo dips a hand into the water, having an almost voluntary feel for the surrealness of the moment, begging her to pause and collect her thoughts that are otherwise utterly scattered.

Laying her hand upon the woman’s shoulder, Jihyo’s state of bewilderment is abruptly cut short when she follows Mina’s line of sight, gaze still and yet, so full of wonder. Her lips part in an audible gasp that parallels her lover’s.

Jihyo nearly misses it; a glimpse that almost slips away. A woman in long curtains that favour milk and ivory, gliding through the trees.

The walls of her quarters are fairly illuminated, a faint glow rising up to Jeongyeon’s ankles while she lays with no intent to leave her position by her reflection. 

Cascading from her small head is nothing but a tanned shade of umber, and her fingers rung around pale, bare wrists. Around her neck are merely scars, but messages of her past; warnings that allow her to keep moving forward -- that includes the restriction of glancing back. It all fits in nicely into Jeongyeon’s preference. To top it all off, she wears a sour, mechanical frown.

Sana tells her to be proud of herself, gives Jeongyeon words of praise for the impression she’d made to the council; tells her that she’s a _brilliant woman_. And such as every euphonious melody, it comes with generous harmony. 

The woman coos gently, with her hands in places where they shouldn’t be -- but oh, shouldn’t they? -- and her plump lips pressing delicate and softened boundaries of skin that allows Jeongyeon the tiniest shrivel of vulnerability. As always, the woman’s a fan of reciprocation, bringing the side of Sana's jaw with a gentle hand and so openly and brazenly craving a taste of her lips. Instinctively, the latter snakes a hand higher up her slim waist, the other lying idle with a feather touch by her hips.

All shame and judgement is thrown out the window, for it has never been an issue for both their bodies. Both so lost in each other’s dark and hazed gazes, this is the only agreement that remains unchanged within the spiralling affairs that goes on outside these walls. They abide by it; _dwell_ in it.

The minute Jeongyeon’s back hits the cushioned lush of the bed, Sana draws back with slyness, savouring the sweetness of her ruler with a punctuated gaze that seems to swallow the latter up.

She latches onto a nameless place, one that siphons out a steady whimper from the woman underneath her. Her friend is unceasing, determined with the mission at hand, and it’s never felt better, it never gets boring. 

There are objects, those that draw unavoidable attention, the types that glimmer under starlight -- the ones you choose to keep simply because they provide you with _something_ , perhaps a worthwhile entertainment.

Contrarily, there are things that do not, the duller pieces that require harder work to see the true value of -- those that you do not want to keep, but never slip out of your clutches nonetheless. However, they are not useless, only underappreciated.

Sana wonders which category she’d fallen into, or maybe she’s in a separate bracket. 

Yet Jeongyeon finds a sanctuary in Sana. 

And Sana finds a sanctuary in Jeongyeon.

With one last cry, every muscle in Jeongyeon’s body releases tension, unwinding into a satisfactory lull -- she twitches every so often, yet Sana has reason to ignore cute gestures, instead pulling a blanket over the sensitive body that is Jeongyeon; the appointed revolutionary, the _nobody turned somebody_. 

It would be inconsiderate of her to call Jeongyeon hers when she’s exactly the type of woman who doesn’t belong to anyone.

Even with the knowledge of her slumber, Sana resists laying her eyes upon her figure. Afraid she’ll hope for something that would grant her to be too greedy. In the silence of the night, she occupies the cold right side of the wide bed, Jeongyeon drowning in hushed snores to her left. 

Attempting to recede the deep-seated pricking behind her eyes has never been harder for her.

**Author's Note:**

> I never really planned to get this out. It’s entirely self-indulgent and I had a plethora of fics that I actually wanted to publish before this but never got around to actually finishing. Hopefully I’ll be able to push through with this one without much pressure on getting it done as quickly as possible :)
> 
> I’ve also seen other authors do the song recc thing, and felt like doing it too, haha. 
> 
> Run With Me - SWJA  
> I Found - Amber Run  
> Stay Here - Gaho  
> Snow - Zion T


End file.
